


Hey, Good Lookin'

by jagnikjen



Series: The Chronicles of Blake Moran [2]
Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Blake has a hot hockey boyfriend, Cooking Lessons, First Dates, Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: How Blake met his hot hockey boyfriend.





	

Blake’s eyes widen at the large man who enters the classroom. Khaki chinos hug slim hips and a dark blue Henley swaths his wide shoulders. He's as tall as Blake, with dark hair and warm blue eyes. A layer of stubble darken his jaw. Wow. The guy is gorgeous and hits just about every button Blake possesses.

“Hello, Oliver, welcome back,” says Kate, the instructor, with a wide smile.

“Thanks, Kate,” says Oliver, smiling in return as a hint of a flush creeps down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. And, damn, if that isn’t the cutest thing Blake’s seen in a while. Oliver’s got a slight accent, as well, but it’s not a common one, so Blake can’t place it.

“All right, class, take your counters, and let’s get started.”

For all his bulk, Oliver moves gracefully through the room to the last empty kitchen area.

Blake turns his focus to Kate and concentrates on preparing the Bourbon Street meal on the menu for the evening. Blake _attempts_ to concentrate. But it’s difficult. Oliver’s a tall good-looking presence in Blake’s peripheral vision. Oliver and Kate share good-natured quips in between Kate’s instructions. Most of the rest of the class participates as well, except Blake. He doesn’t know anyone, and contributing his two cents at this point doesn’t feel comfortable. He’s an introvert, and he doesn’t know these people.

The process of preparing a meal is surprisingly relaxing and the atmosphere is genial. Once everyone’s dishes are complete, they plate up and convene just outside the classroom at the tables and chairs littered on the balcony that overlooks the store itself.

There are six other students besides Blake and Oliver, two of whom seem to be a couple, and all of whom seem to know one or two of the others, and they chat like the acquaintances they seem to be.

“Hi,” says the female half of the couple. “I’m Sara. This is Jake. Do you mind if we join you?”

“Oh, uh, sure. I mean, not at all.” Blake is taken by surprise, but the company is welcome so he doesn’t have to look like the dweeb he most certainly is. “I’m Blake.”

Oliver’s broad shoulders catch Blake’s eye, and Blake tracks the other man’s movements. Rather than take a seat, Oliver leans against the buffet counter on the far wall, and visits with people at the two adjacent tables.

“So what brings you to cooking lessons, Blake?” Sara asks.

“What? Oh…” Blake drags his attention back to the conversation at hand and smiles at Sara and Jake in turn. “I was a personal assistant to a real estate agent who was always on the go and I’ve consumed more fast food and freezer meals in the last year than I really care to think about. My former boss’s boss stole me away and now I have a desk job at the agency and more reliable hours. 

“And, so, here I am in a random Central Market learning how to cook something other than the basics.”

Sara casts her loving gaze onto Jake. “Well, we do it to spend time together. Jake’s a sports agent.” She leans close, smiling, and Jake kisses her.

Blake’s chest constricts a little at the act. It’s sweet, and what he wouldn’t give for someone to share that with. “In D.C.?” Blake asks. “Surely, New York?”

“I’m the junior senator from Montana,” says Sara. “I have to be here. And it’s a short enough commute to New York when the need arises.”

Blake nods and smiles. “That’s true, of course. I always think of D.C. as a seat of the government, but there’s sports here too... The Redskins, the Orioles and the Nationals, the Wizards, and there’s soccer, too, right?”

Jake nods, laughs. “And _hockey_. The Devils in New Jersey. You know, Oliver over there…” Jake turns a moment, glancing Oliver’s way. “…plays for our own Washington Capitals.”

Hockey. Right. Blake’s eyes stray to Oliver, and he’s startled to find those blue eyes on him. Whatever thought had been forming disappears. A small smile plays on Oliver’s lips, but his attention is immediately drawn away, as is Blake’s, and Blake has no idea if the smile was for him or due to someone else’s comment.

“He’s a defenseman.”

“Really? Oh, well…” Blake has no idea what that means and takes a bite while Sara and Jake chatter. Blake flicks his gaze to Oliver once again. An athlete. Every gay boy’s fantasy. But the chances of Oliver being gay are pretty slim. And even if Oliver were gay, the chances of him liking a slightly effeminate nerd like Blake are even slimmer.

~*~*~

It’s Blake’s fourth cooking class, and tonight they’re doing Picnics and Barbecue. Oliver is absent again and the stab of disappointment Blake feels is way out of proportion to the number of times he’s seen the man. Which is to say, once, at the first class. They shared several glances, but were never formally introduced.

Blake’s standing at his assigned cooking station when Kate breezes in, Oliver following like a leaf on the air current of her wake. Blake’s stomach loops like he’s on a roller coaster and his breath catches.

“Look what the cat dragged in from Las Vegas,” Kate says, grinning. “Our very own James Norris Memorial Trophy winner.”

Oliver is smiling and blushing. It’s charming, and Blake claps with the rest of the group, but he has no idea what the James Norris Memorial Trophy is. He’s guessing it’s hockey related.

When Oliver’s gaze meets Blake’s, the air in Blake’s lungs disappears. Oliver’s gaze is wide and warm and blue, and Blake wants to go swimming. Naked. The corner of Oliver’s mouth quirks up, and Blake blinks as the heat spreads across his chest and shoulders.

Kate calls class to begin and Blake resolutely ignores Oliver and focuses on the ground beef in front of him. Awareness of Oliver leaves him by degrees as he chats with the woman next to him and follows Kate’s instructions for making the “moistest, tastiest burger ever.” Until, of course, Oliver laughs. It’s loud and joyous and lights Blake up. Shit. For all he knows, Kate and Oliver have something going on considering that with the amount of money the man’s got to be making a year, he could hire a personal chef. There’s gotta be some reason he’s taking a cooking class at a random upscale grocery chain. Kate seems a likely enough reason.

That’s got to be it. Because, really. So, then, Blake has to get over this infatuation. It’s going nowhere. Oliver is a straight professional athlete. Blake’s a gay professional personal assistant. Nothing’s going to happen between the two of them.

Decision made, Blake feels marginally better. Well, not better, so much as determined to get over this silly infatuation and relieved he’s had this realization sooner rather than later.

Blake waits until Oliver has taste testing partners before he carries his plate onto the balcony. He may as well start now. And that means not allowing his gaze to stray to Oliver. At all.

He asks June and Martha if he can sit with them and chooses the seat that puts as much of his back toward Oliver as possible. June’s tales of being an EMT keep Martha and Blake chuckling throughout the meal. His awareness of Oliver fades to the background again. The three of them take the longest to finish their meal and everyone else is halfway through cleanup by the time they re-enter the classroom.

Oliver presses a kiss to Kate’s cheek and waves on his way out the door.

Disappointment punches Blake in the solar plexus. Oliver and Kate, just as he’d thought. But suspecting a thing and knowing a thing are two different situations altogether. Blake’s glad for the knowledge though. He is. Knowing there’s absolutely no chance for a relationship will make it easier to get over this crush.

“Thanks so much, Kate,” he says with a wave after he’s boxed up his leftovers and cleaned up his station.

“Have a good week, Blake,” she says. “French Bistro next time.”

“I’ll be here.”

Late June in D.C. is warm, but not overly so. There’s a breeze and it’s darker to the west than it should be for seven-thirty in the evening, so a weather front’s moving in.

“Um, Blake?” asks a voice. Blake stops as his stomach swoops, and he whirls around to find Oliver Linna pushing off some sort of Jeep brand vehicle and crossing the parking lot towards him. Blake’s breath stutters in his chest and he snaps his mouth closed before Oliver gets too much closer and sees him gaping like a fish.

“Um, hi, Oliver.” His voice catches just a little on the H, and he hopes Oliver didn’t catch it. By the smile Oliver offers, he did.

Well, shit.

What on earth does Oliver Linna want?

Blake’s pulse thrums beneath skin that feels way too thin at the moment.

“…coffee with me?” Oliver shoves the ends of his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and looks decidedly cute and worried at the same time. Blake’s so screwed.

But, oh…

Did he just ask Blake for coffee?

“Um, I’m sorry…” Blake cocks his head slightly. “…did you just ask me to get coffee with you?”

Oliver grins and nods. “There’s a diner a couple of blocks from here. Great desserts and great coffees.”

 _Well, hail to the freakin’ chief._ Blake fights to not hyperventilate and pass out right here in the Central Market parking lot.

Oliver’s smile fades. “Did I get it wrong?”

“What? Get what—oh. Oh, no. I’m…” Blake curls his fingers into the tote bag holding his leftovers. What does he even say? This is just…unusual. Weird. Surreal. Amazing. “I’m gay. Yeah. You read me right.”

A relieved smile slips across Oliver’s face. “Glad to hear it. So…?”

So? Blake peers at Oliver, feeling decidedly high. He can barely wrap his head around the fact that Oliver might be gay. Blake’s not jumping to conclusions just yet, because Kate might have mentioned something about his job skills that Oliver could be interested in.

“Blake?”

Oh, right—he’s been asked for coffee and dessert. By Oliver Linna of the Washington Capitals, and holy cannelloni, Batman. 

“Um, yeah. I’d like that.”

“Walk or drive?” asks Oliver.

“Let’s walk.”

“Sure.”

“Unless you’re gonna get mobbed by people recognizing you and you’d rather drive.”

Oliver laughs. “Nah. Walking’s fine. This way,” he says, pointing. They fall into step and walk without talking for half a block. Oliver’s width forces others to part like the Red Sea and give them the right of way.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a hockey player,” Blake finally says. The silence making him jumpy.

“Why’s that?”

“Honestly?”

Oliver nods.

“You’re tall and skinny. I mean, tall is good since I’m tall as well. It’s hard to tell height from the videos I might or might not have looked up on You Tube—” Oliver chuckles. “—but you’re definitely not as bulky as those guys.”

“Pads, Blake,” Oliver says and laughs outright this time, and pleasure tingles inside Blake again. “Hockey is a huge contact sport—worse than football—and there’s that puck. Vulcanized rubber hurts like a mother-fucker when it comes at you fifty miles an hour or better. Oh—pardon my language.”

Blake snorts. “Yeah, of course. God, I’m an idiot. I just…I’ve never really been into sports.”

Hockey talk fills the time it takes them to reach the diner as Blake asks questions. Oliver strides ahead and tugs the door open door for him. Blake nods and looks around at the cozy booths with single hanging lights creating circles of warmth on the dark table tops flanked by dark green booths. Old movie posters cover the walls in between the blind-covered windows. The standard long counter with backed stools is filled with patrons. Incredible smells make Blake’s mouth water even though he’s not really hungry. Coffee and cocoa. Peppermint. Cookies and pie. Blake can pick put a hint of apple and maybe pumpkin, but otherwise it’s just a jumble of delicious scents that reminds him of his grandma Vernice’s house at Christmas.

Oliver directs Blake to a banquette in the corner.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to sit with my back to the room, just to make sure no one gets a chance to recognize me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” says Blake, sliding into a seat facing the rest of the diner.

A pretty brown-haired woman sets water between them and pours coffee into Oliver’s upturned cup.

“Hey, Oliver,” she says, smiling wide. “Congrats on the hardware.”

“Thanks, Marge,” he says, looking a bit bashful. “This is Blake. What do you want for dessert?”

Blake looks up from the menu on the table to find Marge and Oliver engaged in some sort of conversation with eyebrows and head nods. He’s almost certain Marge is giving him a hard time in a teasing, big-sisterly kind of way for bringing Blake here.

So this isn’t a usual occurrence and means not only that Blake’s somehow special, but that this might sorta kinda be a first date. If you cocked your head and squinted. The thought freaks him out. How is he even in the same league with a professional hockey player?

He’s not, and Oliver will discover that soon enough, but. Blake’s going to enjoy tonight and that will be that. He’ll go home, put out the little flame of want flickering in his belly once and for all, and lick his wounds clean, and let them heal.

“What’s good?” he asks.

**Author's Note:**

> Central Market is an upscale gourmet grocery chain located in Texas. They do indeed offer cooking classes. For the purposes of this fic, it was just easier to pretend Central Markets are also found in the D.C. area.
> 
> Also, for those with no knowledge of the NHL, awards are given in June each year for various things. From Wikipedia: The James Norris Memorial Trophy, or simply the Norris Trophy, is awarded annually to the National Hockey League's top "defense player who demonstrates throughout the season the greatest all-round ability in the position".


End file.
